Inspiration A*hole

One of the most intimidating things about working as an artist or writer is the stark emptiness of a blank page staring back at you as you sit, pen poised, frozen.The inspiration that had been flowing fluidly only moments ago replaced with that song you heard on an advert the night before or the endless other ‘stuff’ you should probably be doing right now.

For me, inspiration comes in the form of an imagining…a feeling, something that has slunk secretively into my mind and lurked there smirking.

Little by little it makes itself known … a prod, a flash of an image, a sudden feeling that I’m seeing magpies everywhere or hares, or moon crescent goddesses with snake entwined arms.

It becomes a constant thought, an itch, an irritation almost…

Can’t..

Stop..

Thinking ..

About it…

Until I do.

Until I finally make the time to sit, pen poised, blank page in front of me. No distractions, all the time I need….

And then, silence.

That smirking, annoying, repetitive, relentless itch replaced with a sudden need to find the perfect song to work to, or complete and utter… nothingness.

The sort of nothingness that manifests as a high pitched noise …inspiration laughing at me, mocking my inability to even remember what I was about to do.

I woudn’t be so concerned, I may even join in with the little inspiration arsehole in my mind and find it funny …except this is my job.

It is literally the one and only thing I need to be able to access on tap.

Inspiration.

Now please.

Today.

Now.

So what do I do?

I start.

I reign in my wilderness brain and I start something.

Anything.

On a blank page I’ll make a mark, a sweep of charcoal or a tentative pencil outline, a word, a sentence….anything to break the silence.

And then, once the fear of that pristine nothingness is broken, everything begins to flow again.

In life, I have always had a plan. I see what I want to do and I make a plan to get there. I focus, steely eyed and determined…. blinkered even?

An effective strategy to achieve, sure. It’s always worked for me.

But recently, life has thrown me a few curve balls, things I didn’t expect. I couldn’t plan for …

I mean, obviously this is what life does right? It’s not the first time..

And I’ve always found a way to work through them (or ignore them?) and carry on, focused …. direction in tact. Goal plans laid out ahead..

But not this time.

This time I have stood, like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights, frozen, blinded and unsure which way to run.

Vulnerable and planless.

Questioning everything.

It’s uncomfortable.

Alien.

I try to turn it around in my mind to see it as an opening, a freedom, an opportunity…I envy those people who appear to be able to fearlessly shift direction, enjoying every twist and turn of life’s sweet journey as an exciting adventure …(or perhaps this is simply an Insta illusion and actually most are navigating life wide eyed and as unsure as me?)

The clenched jaw and furrowed brow that greets my aching head each morning is painful evidence that my heart isn’t buying my story at all.

I have, after all, always secretly hoped that Frodo would say no to Gandalf and would stay in the shire, find a nice hobbit companion and settle down to second or third breakfast each day.

So what to do?

Start.

Draw a mark on my page.

Trust. (my greatest challenge!)

I wonder if the hares in the fields face similar moments? Is that what they ponder each dusk as they bask in the setting sun bathing in the still warm dust?

Or the badgers? As they tread, pidgeon toed and sturdy through the nettles and ferns under the moonlit canopy of ancient oaks.

Or the Oaks themselves?

As old as old.

Standing in one place while the world shifts, the landscape unrecognisably altering around them.. what have they witnessed in their time?

Do the trees have forums? Do they have chat rooms in their mycelium networks? Do they share their fears and find comfort in common leafy anxieties?

When a tree is threatened it emits essential oils which tells their neighbours that they are under attack, warning them to take action.

Are we all unknowingly emitting our own version of essential oil, flammable and ignited by the fear shock cycles of the media that shapes our ever changing world?

Forever in a state of flight? Or fight?

Despite the world around it…the tree stands.

It grows.

It creates,

The bluetits build their nests, collecting cobwebs from window corners and the spiders continually weave the webs unperturbed.

Rabbits chew dandelions with hungry buzzards circling overhead while foxes learn to thrive in inner cities on a diet of macdonalds and fries.

Adapt.

Create.

Continue.

We are all sharing the uncertainty of a world that has always been uncertain.

This is not new.

What is new is the calculated relentlessness of an invasive voice that reaches into our homes and minds each day telling us that it’s hopeless and the world has become a dark dark place and the only response is exhaustion .

But uncertainty is part of life…right?

Every single life … mammal, plant, rock or human… all inextricably linked and connected in uncertainty.

Start.

Draw a line on the blank page.

Move forward.

The direction is unimportant.

Draw a line and another will follow, and then another… and then you’ll find others around you, who sense your essential oils and will add their lines to your page and before you know it …

A story will begin to take shape.

Away from the poisonous media hype.

Authentic and real.

An actual life unburdened by the false narrative around it.

Your story.

Your tribe.

Your mycelium network.

We can’t ignore the very real concerns and issues that threaten our beloved Mother Earth, of course not. We need to act and be mindful to move through life with care and love, but equally we help nothing by carrying the weight of every single atrocity on our bent and broken  shoulders. It’s simply too much to bear and achieves nothing.

Live small

Slow down

Have space in your mind for random acts of kindness.

I am choosing the Shire. I am choosing to take each day and start it with a sweep of charcoal across the page and see where I end up.

Trusting that, today I will listen to the trees and the birds, watch the silvery slow worms weave their way through the grass and feel the life around me, remembering that I am part of something much greater than myself and my small small dramas.

And if I manage to finished my day, pipe and beer in hand and hairy feet contentedly crossed on the table, with my fellow hobbits around me, then that’s just fine with me.

Tomorrow I’ll draw another line and see where it takes me.